Grandma's Little Book

[Admin]

Chapter 1: Family Visit

The sun was shining grimly on the dry, patchy green-gray lawn of old widow Opal Woolgar. She scowled grimly at her two visitors - both of which never come visit anymore. Her daughter Jean spoke is a hushed, but somewhat provocative manner, irritating Opal, as she never made such ambiguous tones. She only knew angry screaming, and drunken screaming. As a child, she used to do angry-child screaming, but that emotion faded with age. Liquor helped too.

"Thanks so much for looking after Tara, Ma. I'll take you out to dinner as soon as I pay the damned electric bill. I almost had it paid off, but someone I know needed food."

Tara whimpered, cowering for a second. Her body said "Don't hit me" but her previous behavior and track record said "Don't JUST hit me". Opal licked her lips at the weakness of Tara, knowing that she could easily knock the child out cold with a simple whack in the face with her metal cane.

"...and I'll be back when I sober up." a pause. Opal was lost in her thoughts and fantasies. The idea of beating children until their teeth fell out was delightfully appealing to Opal. "Ma, were you listening?"

"Why don't you get the fuck away from my doorstep before I call the cops, you unappreciative bitch." Opal's harsh comment transitioned into a smile. "I have some time to spend with my granddaughter."

Tara whimpered again, though ultimately, the girl seemed to enjoy time with grandma more than time with her mother. Grandma was slow and weak, so if she was lucky, sometimes she could hide in a tree, or on a cabinet.

Jean walked down the jagged broken sidewalk to her car, looked at the door, and realized she was too drunk to drive. She then pondered how her car got there if she was too drunk to drive in the first place. She then remembered that Tara drove. Jean proceeded down the street, hoping to remember the location of the bar, or the bank. Whichever was easier to steal from.

...Leaving Opal with Tara.

Opal glared a sunny glare towards Tara, giving the small child a knowing fear that soon, very soon, she would be hit. The glare continued on for a solid 2 minutes. Amidst the glare, Opal realized that little Tara was merely cowering. She hadn't tried any funny business. That calmed the old bat. However, the grandma didn't restrain her surprise left hook into the tiny child. Though out of respect for her courage, she turn nodded.

She's just like me, only instead of rage, she emits fear. She does it so well, I couldn't knock more than one or two of her teeth out. It's just not fair to punish her for being talented.

And there was a knock on the door again. Had Jean returned?

Opal's strangely sexual rage turned from one victim to the next. And the idea of a surprise always excited Opal. She dribbled slightly as she trotted to the door, making sure the blood vessels in her eyes popped just enough to prove she was really angry.

The woman slammed the door open, and met eyes with her son. Paul was his name. Opal never liked Paul. She never liked any of her children. Jean, Paul, or John. Had John not been overseas, Opal would've personally made sure he didn't have any blasted children. Opal Woolgar stared down at the child next to Paul.

"Jamal, this is your Granny Gran, can you say hi?"

Jamal peeped out from behind his father's leg. The half while, half Asian boy didn't look much like a Jamal. It just seemed like a odd conjuring. Poking his tiny neck out, he looked at his grandmother and looked away, while muttering the quietest "Hello".

Opal hated this child already.

"And why have you not told me the existence of this child up until now, Paul?"

"In truth, Ma, I hate you. A whole lot. You're a mean old bitch, and I'm only revealing this now as a means of making the plot logical."

"So why are you here, ya turd? Go shag yourself another hot bittie and catch the her-pies."

Paul began sobbing. He screamed a shill scream and threw his young child at Opal. Opal caught the child by the neck, like a boss, and slammed it face-down into the ground. Paul ripped up the clustered mounds of living grass from the yard and threw the dusty clumps at the dirty white and brown siding of the house.

He was always my least favorite.

Opal dragged the unconscious child by the leg into the house, and lobbed it next to her fireplace. She felt "bad" that she had to be the one to teach the child to be a man, but she still regrets that the child was "forcefully napping" and probably won't remember the lesson all too well.

Tara poked her cousin in the leg with a wooden spoon she picked up off the floor. Opal was a slob. Bending over to reassure herself that she hadn't murdered her grandson, she checked Jamal's pulse, pressed on the soft spot in his head, and pinched his uvula. The child gagged, and Opal pushed him away.

"W-Where's Daddy...?" Jamal sobbed, looking around.

"Your dad has repressed sexual frustration, and the only reason you're alive is because he managed to devote enough time to his crappy desk job to afford a mail-order bride. Now he's screaming at the house and throwing my lawn onto the siding, because he wants my love and attention. Needless to say, he can't get what doesn't exist."

Opal reconsidered. The child couldn't have been older than 6. Such a comment wouldn't phase the damaged brain of something so dumb. She reworded.

"Your mom is from a TV commercial, and your dad hates me for liking you better than him."

Tara dropped the wooden spoon and picked up a large knife she found on the ground. Opal was really, very messy.

"Okay granny, let's cut to the chase. I don't want my damn teeth knocked out today. I deal with the bullshit enough when I'm home from school and mom is playing beerbottle bullseye with my face. I have absolutely no problem slicing your throat, killing this brat, and hanging myself in your kitchen. The title of this damn story is Grandma's Little Book. Get to the reading."

Opal eyed Tara. She felt a new emotion. Pride. However, the pride was distilled with confusion. "I don't have any books in this house. I'm American. I watch TV and pleasure myself to photos of Taylor Lautner. Nobody reads."

Tara was growing impatient, and her tiny 8 year old arms were getting antsy. "Make a book. This story better be fucking cute, or you'll look like the girl from the Exorcist by the time I'm done with you.

Digging through papers, she managed to pull out her old "Little Black Book".

"Will this do?" Opal called over to Tara.

The girl nodded. Opal sat comfortably on her couch, which was riddled with various empty pill bottles and feminine hygiene products, both new and used.

Thud. Nothing important. Paul was still outside throwing clumps of dirt at the house and crying.

Throwing a rope to Jamal, Tara indicated to Opal. Jamal tied the elderly woman up, who then felt an impossible surge of joy in that moment, knowing that her grandchildren were growing up to be just like her. She would've continued her inner monologue, but the sharp pain of a knife bit into her palm.

"Read us a story from your little black book. Don't make me fuck up the title of the story on you. Grandma's Little Book can soon be Grandma's Big Skull Fracture".

"Jamal, hold the book open for me... you little prick."

"Okay, this story is called..."

[Golden Emblem]

Brandon, all I can say is... what the fuck.

EDIT: In a nice way, though.

[Celia]

A wild BRANDON appeared!
He attacks your CONFIDENCE IN WRITING ABILITY with his INTIMIDATINGLY WELL WRITTEN STORY.

[killerinstinct]

That... was very very odd. Very unique. I actually want to know what happens next.

and lol @ Celia.

[ProMetaAnaTelo]

This is really dark humor.

[pyroflasher]

As always brandon your dark imagination has conjured an intriguing peace of work. I look forward to reading the content's of this "book"

[Admin]

Chapter 2: “Grandma’s Childhood Joys”

“Hey! Wait up!” bellowed a young Opal Woolgar, trotting off of the wooden planks of the creaky yet mighty Juneweed, a boat of grand mass and girth. The meager Puritan village was still under construction, and the last night had been rainy. Without stagnant shelter to rest under, Opal and the other pre-Americana Europeans had made a temporary home of the very boat they had traveled on.

“Opal is a harlot! Ha ha haha ha ha!” Robbie chimed back, not knowing that each insult drove Opal towards him faster.

If Opal and Robbie began running at a pace of 4 feet per second, with Robbie at a 23 foot lead. Opal increased her pace by .1 foot per second for every insult Robbie made, and Robbie consistently made an insult every 2 feet he traveled. Assuming that Opal’s arm range in 1.5 feet, and that she’d need at least .2 feet of her arm to grab Robbie, how long would it take for Opal to grab Robbie?

Eventually catching up to him, and after beating him with a wooden stick until he had bruises all over his body, Opal ceased her rage.

“I am not a harlot…”

Robbie quivered and coughed. He spit several teeth out of his mouth, thinking cautiously about his words. “D-Do you even know what a harlot is?”

The young Opal paused. “Don’t people use those to cure pregnancy?”

Robbie saw an opportunity. “A harlot is a globetrotter. You play basketball… Real good basketball.”

Opal wasn’t buying it. Especially because Basketball hadn’t been invented yet. “Hey, fuck you buddy. You can’t lie your way out of calling me a coat hanger.”

Young Opal dropped a hard kick right into Robbie’s face. It’s super effective! Robbie fainted. Opal got 145 experience points. Opal leveled up! Would you like to learn body slam? Y/N

“Yes please”

What move will you replace it with?
Growl, High Jump Kick, Hyper Voice, Explosion.

“Fuck growl.”

Opal has forgotten growl.
…
Opal has learned Body Slam.

Opal slammed her torso down onto Robbie. It was at that moment, Opal realized that he might need medical assistance, as she had done quite a load of damage on him. The sun shone brightly on his shimmering blood, which pooled in the shape of Scooby Doo on the dirt below him. Opal smiled and knew everything was gonna be okay!

Dragging his limp body behind her, similar to the style she carries people, she dropped him in the center of a new Puritan church being constructed. She shrugged off all the Puritan’s surprised reactions with a simple “I found him like this.”

Not wanting him to recover enough to tell people that she was the one who had beaten him, she made certain to rip out him vocal cords, prior. There was a gaping hole in his chest. He seemed pretty healthy, though. Healthy like a plant, or something.

“Well get this boy some Opium! It’ll save his life!” shouted a 10 foot tall woman covered in black hair with 8 limbs. Some might say she VAGUELY resembles a spider, but really, she’s just part Italian. The village doctor came round the bend, with a tattered leather rucksack filled with tools. He shuffled through many items, dropping several… almost as if he were a videogame character emptying his inventory. After several long minutes, he pulled out a round, toothed tool that looked similar to a torture device. Opal was curious.

“What’s that?” she said smiling.

The doctor, knowing that humans are generally as tall as the length of both arms spread apart, (and having read the earlier paragraph) determined Opal to be about 3 feet tall. Having been a convicted pedophile back in England, he also knew that 3 feet is the average height for a 3-4 year old girl. Knowing that a child so stupid wouldn’t understand what a leeching tool is, simplified it to her as best as he could.

“Little Opal, this right here is a little-kid brain kisser. It gets rid of that mean skull so that I can kiss his brain and other various appendages.”

“Okay Doc, don’t fuck with me. I want to know where the hell I can get one. Why? Because I like it. Interfere and I’ll kill you, just like I did Big Bird. Snuffy! Help me! Sorry Big Bird, your imagination can’t save you from my Excalibur.”

…

Waking up from a daze, Opal found herself disoriented and feeling miserable. She hadn’t clearly recalled what she was feeling earlier, but it felt similar to the feeling of Heaven. Becoming more aware of her surroundings, she remembered the man laying naked in the grass next to her was Robbie.

Was it a dream?

Robbie was stagnant and looked uncomfortably cold, though he was still tripping.

Oh… Opium. Looolz.

Opal remembered her boyfriend in the grass, the wild sexual experience they endured, how little Opium she had taken in comparison to the vast amount of his consumption. Was he going to be okay?

And on June 19th, 1937, Opal would’ve updated her Facebook status from In a Relationship to Widow.
Get it? Overdosages! ...

[Griffin]

I...I can't help but love this...

[Wulfi]

I love this... so hard...

[Golden Emblem]

It was a good chapter, but not as good as chapter one.

[Admin]

Tara spoke bitterly as Grandma concluded her story. Jamal looked equally bitter. Their frowns slightly resembled the standard cat anus, very puckered lips. Truly, it was their eyes displaying their anger. "Well, that story sucked." said Tara, threatening Opal with a bath sponge. Opal is still messy, but that a bath sponge is a poor choice of threatening weaponry, especially considered that Opal is a fond collector of battleaxes, glaives, and Super Mario Fireflowers. "I'd rather be threatened with something better, please." said Opal, indicating to the better weapons. Tara did what any normal terrorist would do. She jammed the bath sponge in Opal's mouth and pouted.

Jamal pulled the sponge from his grandmothers mouth. "I'd appreciate a better story," he requested "one with a point. Sure, your early childhood days were cute and all, but I'm fairly young and don't understand what a drug trip is. If you would be so kind..." Grandma, still tied up, appreciated his clarity. She liked the Opium story when she was growing up, and had assumed the children would like it too. The page of her little black book containing that story shriveled up and fell off. "Don't bother, Jamal. This old bitch doesn't know how to tell stories. She's dumb." Grandma used RAGE. She tore off the ropes and charged at Tara, slamming her into the floor. "I am a BRILLIANT WRITER! I published a story when I used to be a Canadian transvestite named Michael Kalsi. It was called Lesbian Vampires, and it was great! Let me read it to you!" Jamal watched Opal screaming at Tara, who was now pinned to the ground. "Please, something more along the lines of Aesop's Fables..." asked Jamal, trying not to instigate Grandma into strangling Tara.

"Oh." blurted Grandma. She sat comfortably on the couch, brushing some crystal meth and baby teeth off the cushion (She's incredibly messy) and picked up the little black book. She turned through several pages of sexual experiences before she looked on one with a smile. "This was written inspired by Grandpa." She looked carefully through the story, making sure the children would understand it. She nodded, confirming it to be of quality.

"This story is called... (Chapter 2:) Collection of Knaves." Grandma flipped through pages. She looked for where to start. She went to the laundry room to put some clothes on (she had been nude throughout the first 2 chapters.) Before returning to tell her story, she put her pokemon in the daycare. No need for their interference! She then sat back down and read.



Deep, within the listless suburbia, known only by the name Prinn's Nook, lived an elderly man. The man was of typical elderly age, with a typically elderly social life, typical elderly funds, and sadly, a typical elderly connection to his family. The wan was alone. It had been seven years since he relocated to Prinn's Nook with his wife for more convenient roads, more convenient shopping centers, and more convenient hospital access. The two lived happily alone together for a year, traveling aimlessly on the convenient roads, driving to the convenient shopping centers, buying typical things, and passing the convenient hospital. However, the convenience of the hospital was not convenient enough.

After a year of living in Prinn's Nook, Spring had returned. The elderly couple had been getting ready to plant the minor seeds and bulbs in their garden. The elderly wife sat diligently in the garden, preparing the soil, while the elderly man set out to the convenient store to buy seeds for their typical garden. While driving to the convenient store along the convenient roads, the typical elderly woman's typical heart stopped beating abruptly; it was a typical death. The typical woman never made it to the convenient hospital.

At the elderly man's return, he looked upon his resting wife in the garden. She was cool and pale. He knew the truth immediately, and he knew it would be different around the home. Somehow, her peaceful passing in the garden was an enviable fate to the elderly man. He had sat with her not 30 minutes prior, and she spoke in a soft, pleasant manner, as she always had. There wasn't a tube, a procedure, or a pain for her. All was beautiful and serene. She passed in her garden, with the gentle breeze, plush dirt, and company of her collection of kitschy porcelain knickknacks.

Even 6 years later, well past her death, the elderly man respected the life of his lost beloved. Lined in the garden were many porcelain gnomes - or knaves, as she would often call them. Each in the garden had been hand made by a craftsman in the town, and each creation was beautiful. The elderly woman collected the sculptures because she had pitied the poor craftsman. "His work is beautiful" she would say, "but nobody looks for it to be beautiful." Over time, the elderly couple of typical finance became daily customers of the poor craftsman of great skill and tact. Even after the death of the woman, the man of typical social life continued the bong with the poor craftsman.

It is not a difficult task, collecting many ornaments after a span of 7 years. The elderly man of typical finance became a celebrity in the town, known only as Prinn's Nook. His front and back yard displayed larger, ornate porcelain objects, while the smaller objects had been put in the houses collection. The craftsman of great skill and tact became much greater in skill and tact, openly thanking the typical elderly man for being a generous customer and allowing him to better his work. The small gnomes that the craftsman had once made became larger, almost completely real-looking natural objects. Many of those lined the yard of the typical elderly man. The collection of beautiful nature-like objects lined the garden of the elderly man, which kept away the necessity of planting the seeds and bulbs himself. He'd have flowers all year.

The town often chattered on and on about the elderly man with the porcelain garden. They commented how he was the only man in the neighborhood with flower fully abloom in the middle of Winter. One day, when the elderly man went to visit the craftsman and buy another ornament, he saw the sign on the shop door. "Sorry, we're closed. Gone to the big city!" For those 7 whole years, the craftsman had saved his money, and used his savings to travel to the big city to show others his work. His long absence from Prinn's Nook eventually made him a star. His work was favored by collectors, and he was declared a genius. His work was selling for millions! Still, the craftsman took time from his glitz and glamour to visit the old, shut-in suburbia, known only as Prinn's Nook.

On the day of his arrival, he crept into his dusty store, looking at all the empty shelves he had left unfilled. Not minutes past his return, did the elderly man walk through the shop door. "Where were you?" the old man inquired "I was worried sick!" The craftsman explained his good fortune, and word of it spread. His work was selling for millions and the colorful collage in the elderly man's garden was now worth more than the town's weight in gold.

The news quickly spread, and the craftsman returned to the city. It was to be expected from a star. All the meager civilians in the town looked upon the elderly man's house with envy. Many glaring at him in passing, making snide comments that the senile old man didn't need those tacky things. Many spoke of inheritance, though all agreed that the house and all the belonging would go straight back to the craftsman, who had been the elderly man's only friend in the town.

The night the news spread, the elderly man sat down in bed and thought to himself I'm glad the craftsman has become a success. He deserves it. He had skill, and tact, and worked hard. The morning came soon after, as did the mourning. The elderly man awoke, walking typically to the kitchen, and peered into his garden. It was bare. All the townsfolk, each and every one, had snuck into the garden and stole a one of his wife's knaves. The man, now alert, searched through the nooks and crannies through his house where he had places the smaller collection of knaves. All, save for one - the one his wife first purchased, had been smuggled from the house.

The elderly man sat calmly in a chair. "Why would they do that? What value was worth the loss of dignity, the loss of morality?" He observed the knave remaining, the smallest one. In it's eyes, he saw a glimpse of his own wife's, and he smiled. Pocketing the smallest of knaves, he walked out the door, looking at each and every happy townsperson. None looked directly in his eyes. None spoke to him. Walking to the store of the craftsman of great tact, he looked again at the sign that had been their. "...Gone to the big city."

Over the next few weeks, each and every townsperson moved away, finding greater houses in better neighborhoods. Eagerly escaping the dauntingly warm eyes of the man they robbed blind. Their houses emptied quickly, and soon, they were gone. Alone in the forest of empty homes, the old man smiled a true smile. The devil had been cleared from this town. He continued walking through the streets to the shop of the craftsman of great skill, to reread the sign. As he stood there, he noticed confused people walking the streets. "Excuse me," they said "but we're quite perplexed. Why are all these houses sold so cheap? This neighborhood is lovely, yet there must be a catch. Could you please tell us?" The elderly man looked at them sincerely and said "The homes should all be fine. The people of this town all came into great fortune, and moved into their homes immediately. There's no catch to it." The people looked elated. "Thank you!" spoke a woman, "my husband and I have lived a life of typical income, so we've never been able to buy a decent house in a cheap neighborhood." The husband nodded and wrapped his arm around his wife. "This is a beautiful place, and it's serene. I'd like a home here. Perhaps some day, you could visit us for lunch."

The old man smiled. "That would be great. I've been alone for 6 years, and haven't had much company. In fact, here is a welcome to the neighborhood present." The elderly man picked from his pocket, the knave that his wife had first purchased and placed it in the hand of the young husband and wife who had shown him kindness that he thought had been lost with his wife. "It'd be nice to spend an afternoon with good people before I eventually go to bed."



Opal closed the book. Carefully scanning the eyes of the children, she waited hesitantly. Tara and Jamal smiled. Opal cracked her knuckles and exclaimed the only locial thing in that moment. "In your FACE!"

[erica]

This is my first post.
Good work, Bran Bran.

[Celia]

oh my god, I love your brand of humor. the way your playing this out is creative, and its developing really well.

[Admin]

Satisfied with her ability to strike emotions into the innocent, Grandma pick up handfuls of cat food tins and broken dolls, dropped them on the couch, and brushed them back off the couch, just so she could still go with her whole messy motif. Grandma repositioned herself on the couch, and nodded solemnly to herself.

Tara pat Jamal on the skull as he slowly drifted off into a sleep. Grandma didn’t mind him sleeping. After all, she had previously brought fear to him. If he became comfortable enough to sleep near her, it just means she had a good story.

“I wrote that story after grandpa passed.”

Tara nodded. “But why was the main character of the story an old man, and not an old woman?”

“Because it’s a story, stupid.”

“Oh.”

“…I wasn’t always evil.”

“Reaaaaaally now, grandma? Your first story was about how you beat a kid to death. Also, there was an Italian woman who looked like a spider.”

“You shut your whore mouth. I didn’t write that until recent days. And in case you didn’t notice... All Italian women look like spiders.”

“Grandma, is there something wrong? You haven’t hit me in like, 7 minutes. What’s going on?”

Opal sighed. She glazed over Tara’s eyes with her own. Tara could see the gray sickness in Grandma, yet Opal closed her eyes. She shook her head and smiled. "You're going to have to grow up very soon, dear. Jamal won't understand, he's very young, but I'm ready to transition. My passing is fast approaching."

"Don't say things like that, Grandma. You've got another... 2, maybe 3 chapters left of life in you!"

Opal laughed. She was proud that Tara had broken the 4th wall and acknowledged their meaning of life. Opal was no longer strong enough to serve her purpose, however.

"Do you want to hear a story? Your mother once tried to prove she was a good parent by buying you a Barbie Storybook. I could read you a story like one of those."

"My mother is a drunk. I like CreepyPasta"

Opal nodded. Jamal was too young for the consumption of fear noodles.

"Then let this be the last story I tell. Chapter 4, Story 3: Chrome"


It had only been a few weeks since I downloaded Google Chrome. It wasn't like a was a huge efficiency addict or anything, I just wanted to use Chrome on my new laptop. Naturally, I couldn't figure out the new setup of my Windows 7, since now there were like, 3 taskbars, so naturally I call my brother. He's a computer science major, and generally just better with computers than I have ever been. After what appeared to be about 8 lightning fast minutes, he managed to have everything setup perfectly.

"You really couldn't do this? I thought you needed help with something important." he said, sipping on the Arnold Palmer I made him.

I shrugged. He was giving me a harder time about it than I thought. After an hour or two of chatting and fucking around with people on Chatroulette, he got back in his car and left. Heading back to my computer, I opened Chrome, glanced over my homepage, and opened a new Tab. Chrome had showed the 8 most visited sites I've been to. The one in the bottom right corner caught my eye. It wasn't familiar to me. I shrugged and opened up my Kongregate tab, played some shitty flash games for 2 hours, eventually getting bored. I opened up Facebook and began chatting up some friends. While talking to one particularly attractive blonde, I opened a new tab again to bring my Youtube up. The unfamiliar thumbnail in the corner caught my eye again. Trying to recollect what it was, I click it. An unfamiliar image file pops up on my screen, looking like it was a pixelated wallpaper. It was a series of many pinks and purples that looked like a disassembled flower. It was impossible to say if it actually was.

The next afternoon, I came home from school, played around on Facebook, and came about opening a new tab. The ominous link in the bottom right corner continued to stare at me. I scrolled over the thumbnail and waited for the X to appear so I could remove it, but no matter how many times I clicked that gray X, the image file remained. Huffing to myself, I notice the file is different from before. Seeing no harm in clicking again, the file again appeared as a large, wallpaper-size photo. The image, however, was a little more zoomed out than it had been. The orchid that I once saw looked more like a pale rose on a deep red and purple background. It was still pixelated. I wondered why the file changed, I checked back on the file repeatedly over the day, but it didn't change again.

A similar story followed the next day. Immediately wanting to check my image file to see if it changed, I was humored to see that it changed again. The pale rose became less rose-like, and the image was very confusing. The light pink "rose" looked more like a color blend of the red and purple on the outside. There was another color in the corner of the unidentifiable photo. A dark brown.

Every day, it seemed, a little more of the photo came up. The following day, the rose looked like a white blob mixed with a red and purple blob, with a brown spot ajar in the upper right corner, but also, a white and red piece that I hadn't noticed before. What was this image, I asked myself...

The next 3 days gave me the same inquiry. As the photo became clearer, it also became vaguer. Now, however, it started to look more and more like a watercolor portrait.

Today, I figured out what it was, recognizing the once intriguing image as the brain of a corpse. I click out of the tab and try to hit the gray X again. Nothing. Outraged, I call my brother again to come over and do a system reset on my computer. He yells at me, of course, says he's busy and that I can figure it out myself. Nauseous and uncomfortable at knowing that the image on my computer was a corpse, I press keys and buttons rather frantically. I right click the image, hoping there's an option for me to do something. Directly above the different grayed out options is the short phrase "CLICK CLICK". I press it nervously, and the image disappears from my screen.

Less than an hour later, I get a call from my mother, who is barely audible through her screams and gags. Between her labored breaths she tells me that something happened to my brother. He died from a shotgun wound to the face. No bullets or evidence of a gun was found, but his shooting was undeniable. His pink, red, and purple brain matter scattered all over the gray sidewalk, seeming to have split apart from his scalp of brown hair. Nobody in the surrounding street saw anyone with a gun, but many witnesses swore they heard a CLICK CLICK BOOM.

Tara sat disappointed. "Grandma, your creepy pasta was too long. That was a long noodle. Keep them short."

Grandma shook her head and closed her eyes.

"I challenge you, if you want a better story, write a better story. I'm done." said Grandma Opal, as she drifted off to sleep for the last time.

Tara frowned and looked towards the reader of this story. Yes. You. "Hey, please don't vote to keep this story in. It's over. Seriously."

Also, Tara noticed there was some Jesus on the ground. I reach the light and God is there. Shit. Tara shit her pants. Grandma was messsssssy.